We Were Supposed to be Married
by Newtinmpls
Summary: A scouting troop of Buckmoth Legion's finest went to investigate Ilnuibi; they didn't come back when expected. A worried young woman gets very bad news about the condition of her fiancee, but she just can't give up. Not yet. Includes: Only-He-Stands-There, Hul, Millie Hastien.
1. Chapter 1

_Authors note: This story is harmoniedusoir's fault and I mean that in a good way. I was in the process of writing a description of someone seeing corprus for the first time when I read her story "The Messenger". For the first time I saw that trooper who made it back from Illinubi as more than just a faceless victim. So I added a chapter where someone brings back the news of this tragedy to that trooper's family, and just to make it even more tragic, I added a fiancée. I then went on to write other chapters in that story._

_In the back of my mind was that fiancée, still stunned and weeping and disbelieving. _

**Standard disclaimer: I do not own Morrowind, or any of the other wondrous creations of Bethesda Softworks, however I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks, spells and characters of my own invention. I play with a number of mods, and when something specific appears in my story based on a mod, I will do my best to give the mod author credit.**

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**~~The News~~**

Vyctannya Hastien stood on the stool in the front of her mother's clothier shop, hands covering her mouth. The pinned length of rose colored fabric that was to have been her wedding dress slowly unraveled to the floor with a silky whisper.

"Dyus." She whispered softly. No one heard her.

Beside her stood her mother Millie Hastien, hands still full of pins, eyes on the reluctant speaker standing against the wall of the shop hear the doorway. Near the door stood Aditte, Vyctannya's twin, her right hand clutching, white knuckled, at the bracer of her intended, Alodie Jes. He had just returned from Fort Hawkmoth. He was resplendent in his new armor. His left hand was gently patting Aditte's.

The whole family was staring at a weary looking red haired Bosmer woman. She wore chitin armor that had clearly been repaired many times. Across her back were two spears, an ornate bow and a quiver of arrows. On anyone else it would have looked strange or excessive, but somehow all the weaponry seemed to be a part of this mer. Her expression was guarded and sympathetic, though she avoided meeting anyone's gaze.

She was talking to Aditte and Alodie. Explaining that the patrol sent from Fort Buckmoth to Illinubi had been slaughtered, with only one survivor.

"Dyus," Vyctannya whispered again. He had to be alive. Wouldn't she know it if something had happened? Wouldn't she feel it if he had died? "He's not dead. He can't be dead."

"The survivor," the Bosmer spoke slowly, still looking more into the distance than at any one person, "was cursed with a terrible disease. For the moment he is being kept at Buckmoth Legion Fort for examination."

Alodie was still patting Aditte's pale hand. "Examination?" He asked softly.

The Bosmer nodded. "He has corprus."

Silence spread through the room like darkness at sunset.

Vyctayna burst out. "But. He's alive - Dyus is alive."

Alodie turned as if he was going to answer, but the Bosmer beat him to it. She looked directly at Vyctannya and the pain in the red haired mer's eyes made the young Breton go cold inside.

"There is no more Dyus. There is only the twisted remnant of what he was. What is left is no more him than … than your clothing is you." She trailed off.

Vyctannya felt numb. "Other diseases can be cured. There's even a cure for blight. There are healers, there's magic. Someone can help him."

For a moment the Bosmer looked oddly embarrassed, and slightly angry. Then she said. "Divayth Fyr, a powerful wizard of the Telvanni, has studied this disease for many many years. In all that time, he has barely uncovered small parts of what he thinks it is. There is no cure."

"He keeps a place," The Bosmer continued, "where victims of this disease are kept safe, and fed and studied. Some of them are hundreds of years old, or older. They are shambling hulks, mindless twisted appetites. There is nothing of man or mer left of them." She paused then, frowning ever so slightly as if recalling something.

If Vyctannya hadn't been watching so intently she might have missed it, and she interrupted eagerly. "There is something. There's someone who is different."

The redhead looked frustrated for a moment, and then said. "I shall not raise false hopes. There is no cure. If you want him to be cared for, you could bring him to the coprusarim at Tel Fyr and he would be safe there. If you go to Tel Fyr, you could try speaking with Uupse Fyr or Vistha-Kai. They have worked with these victims. They won't lie to you."

"But maybe." Vyctannya whispered.

The Bosmer shook her head, red hair momentarily obscuring her too-knowing eyes. "There is no cure. I'm sorry."

Alodie spoke up. "I thank you for telling us. The legion should have given me this responsibility. Most of the officers at Buckmoth and Hawkmoth would have known I was coming here."

The momentary flash in the mer's eyes said that she'd thought of that. Saying nothing, she just nodded slightly in acknowledgment and then squared her shoulders and turned to face Millie. "I know Vyctannya will not be able to hear this, but it needs to be said. Dyus is lost. He's just a twisted husk of a body. Jumbled nightmares are all that is left of his mind." Her eyes seemed to go dark for a moment, "he will live like this, and keep living, unless someone does him the kindness of ending it."

Vyctannya made a small sound of pain.

"I am sorry." The Bosmer said again, "I am more sorry than I can say." Then she turned and left. At the last moment she reached out and turned the little display sign from 'open' to 'closed'.

As the door was just about closed, Millie stopped her with a word.

"Cylsandra," She called softly.

The door stopped moving. The mer waited, but did not turn back.

"Thank you for telling us."

The door was gently closed.

**~~The Nightmare~~**

Vyctannya spent the next few hours just sitting and staring. Or maybe it was days. She wasn't sure. She couldn't sleep because she had dreams of Dyus calling out to her, or dead. Or dreams that echoed over and over Cylsandra's sorrowful words; 'a_ twisted husk' 'the kindness of ending it'_.

She sat, holding her her lute, fingers shifting as if to make chords, but not strumming. She wanted to play something to get her feelings out, something to make her feel better. There was nothing.

She knew that there were terrible diseases in Morrowind. She'd seen serious cases of Helljoint, where the victims could barely walk. Even once a case of Serpiginous Dementia; where Ra'Virr's little daughter T'sabi had lost most of her fur to thick patches of scaly growth and been terrified by things only she could see. Luckily Tyermaillin, gentle golden-haired Altmer, had recognized it and been able to cure it.

Surely Tyermaillin, who was a very skilled healer, would know something to do? Or maybe a mage? There could be a spell. Or could someone make one?

She paced back and forth in her room, unable to sleep, twisting a drop spindle in hands that wanted to be doing something useful. Years ago when her family still lived in Cheydinhal, one of her friends, a nord boy named Vidkun had talked to her about magic. He'd said that the really skilled mages didn't just learn spells, they created new ones. Surely there was hope?

Except for the fact that in hundreds of years, one of the most powerful Wizards in the world hadn't found a cure yet.

_Dyus, how can I help you?_

She didn't eat until her mother Millie stood over her while she finished a bowl of saltrice and scrib. As soon as her mother left, Vyctannya went back to her pacing. He wasn't dead. There had to be hope. There just had to be.

The endless circling of her thoughts was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

Vyctannya knew that she was being rather selfish, keeping to herself, blocking her sister from their room, but she just didn't want to face anyone's sympathy right now. She called out a warning. "I don't want to talk to you, Aditte."

The door opened, and an Imperial tenor answered. "Then it's a good thing I'm not her."

Vyctannya turned, surprised as Alodie stepped into the room. She couldn't help but notice he was wearing a grey shirt and leggings that she'd never seen before. Likely something new that Aditte and Millie had worked on. The embroidery at the upright collar and stiff cuffs of the shirt was vaguely military. It looked good. It also made her think of Dyus. Everything made her think of Dyus. "Why are you here?"

"I'm here because you don't have much time if you really want to see what's left of him."

Fear clutched at her heart with chill fingers. "What do you mean?"

With a glance at her for permission, he sat next to her on the bed. "Arnand Liric is the healer and alchemist for Fort Buckmoth. If it were up to him, he would keep Dyus alive indefinitely. However Raesa Pullia is the highest ranking officer there and she thinks it's a dishonor to his service and his dignity to keep him alive. She is pushing for what she calls a respectful mercy killing."

Before Vyctannya could object, he held up one hand to stop her. "Dyus' father died in battle. His family has a proud tradition of losing its sons and brothers that way; they're almost Nord in the way they think about it. The point is that right now he has cousins who are not yet decided. If you were to go, by virtue of being his intended, you could make this decision. But you would have to go very soon."

Vyctannya was simultaneously torn between wanting to see him, and wanting to deny what he had become. Maybe they were wrong, maybe it was some other trooper. But if that was the case then he really was dead. "I-" She didn't know what to say. She wasn't sure what she wanted.

Alodie turned so that he was seated next to her, but not facing her. "For what it's worth, I would have asked the same questions. I mean about the magic or something." He was obviously turning something over in his mind. "I think maybe, maybe something could be done for him."

Vyctannya turned on him, gripping his shoulder, wrinkling the fabric of his new shirt. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

He shook his head, and met her gaze. "It's not my place. Cylsandra was right, there is no cure, and the coprusarium has been caring for victims for thousands of years, supposedly."

The blood drained from Vyctannya 's face. Dyus could live - as a twisted remnant of a person - for a thousand years?

Alodie took her face in his hands. "Look at me, Vyctannya. I need to tell you something. Some months ago I had a job. Not one that anyone wanted and I've had a few unfortunate run-ins about my attitude, so I took this one. I needed to do something to get back into my superior's good graces. The legion tries to maintain good relations with the Temple," He sighed. "Okay, I'm making it too complicated. Anyway, the point is that I was one of the escorts for a Dunmer pilgrim named Tanusea Veloth, to escort her out of Vivec _because she had corprus_."

"I understand Alodie, other people have gotten it, and-"

"No, you _don't_ understand. _She was sane_. She had marks of the disease, enough to show that she had it, but she wasn't twisted by it. She wasn't driven mad by it. She was quoting complicated bits of scripture at me the whole time we spoke."

She stared at him. "Why are you telling me this?"

He looked down. "Maybe I'm giving you false hope," he admitted, "but Dyus Varrio was a friend of mine. He saved my life more than once. And you are the only one who can give him a chance, if there is one."

It was on the tip of her tongue to say 'why me', but he'd just told her why. As Dyus' fiancée she was the closest relative he had. The only one who could fight for this chance. If it was a chance.

Alodie continued. "Tanusea went to the corprusarium. She's probably still there."

She nodded silently.

"If you decide that you want to see Dyus, and it would have to be in the next day or so, I will escort you. I've already talked to Aditte about it."

He patted her hand, and then silently got up and left. The door closed softly behind him.

Vyctannya looked at the door, and then stood up. She'd hidden long enough. More than long enough. It was time to act. Even if she was not entirely sure what to do.

**~~Officially Speaking~~**

Vyctannya waited until Masalinie 's shift was over for the day. The petite Breton was running her fingers through her disordered hair and looking frustrated. She smiled on seeing Vyctannya, and then her smile faded. "I'm so sorry." She said.

Vyctannya accepted the implied hug. Then she asked. "Could I speak with you about ... learning about magick?"

Masalinie raised an eyebrow, and then glancing around, said. "I was just about to stop by the Eight Plates for a bit of a drink. Come with me."

Once outside the Guild Hall, she took Vyctannya by the hand and hastened south.

"I thought we were going-" Vyctannya began. After all the Eight Plates was just a block or so to the north.

"Trust me." Said the mage, and that was all she said till she had not only led the way to the Lucky Lockup, but had rented a room and cast several spells whose effects weren't anything that Vyctannya could detect.

Vyctannya pursed her lips. "I hadn't thought this was going to be that hard of a conversation. I mean don't you just sort of look at me, or test me and say yes I can learn magick or no I can't?"

Masalinie bit her lower lip. Then she gestured to the small rickety table where two chairs and a bottle of Greef waited for them. "Actually, no." She said. "I have to explain something, and I need your word that what I tell you does not leave this room. I could be in ... well, a lot of trouble. Dangerous trouble."

"Of course," Vyctannya placed her hand on the other woman's. "I'm not trying to get you to break rules or do anything dangerous."

"Okay."

They sat there. Vyctannya could see that Masalinie was very uncomfortable, so she just waited.

Finally, Masalinie ran her hands through her short unruly hair and said. "Anyone can learn magic."

Vyctannya sat there for a moment.

"What?" She must have heard wrong.

"Anyone." Masalinie said, and then she let out a long slow breath. "It's not can you. It's should you. Because magick is the energies of ... of everything. If you open yourself to attempt a work of magic that is beyond what you can," she paused, looking around the room as if for inspiration. Eventually she said. "beyond what you can carry, then your body, your life pays the price."

Vyctannya's mouth opened, but she didn't actually say anything.

"Yes," Masalinie answered the question that the blonde Breton was not daring to ask. "If you cast a work of magic that is too powerful for you, you can die of it. Or worse."

"What could be worse?" And then Vyctannya went silent.

"Lots of things." Muttered Masalinie. "And there is more. The guide of mages was formed mostly to fight against this really powerful necromancer."

"I'm not exactly sure what that is, anyway. Something to do with the dead?"

Masalinie nodded. "Death is natural. Taking a spirit that has died and forcing it to wear a dead body that originally belonged to someone or something else is not. Or even shoving it back into its own body, or its own bones."

Vyctannya hadn't really thought about it that way. She felt nauseated.

The other woman waved a hand. "That's not the issue anyway, it's just that the mages guide sometimes takes a dim view of anyone who isn't actually part of the guide doing any magic because they might be doing necromancy." She sighed. "And especially here on Morrowind, getting into the guide, and progressing and all that is sometimes more about who your family is and who you know. Dunmer like to take things slow, and they tend to start training mages very young." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm not explaining this well."

"That's okay. I know that I won't be able to suddenly understand all the subtle workings of a magical guide in one conversation. So just tell me the main points." Somehow Masalinie's caution made Vyctannya want to get started. Get moving. Something.

"Okay. Summary. Ranis isn't going to let you into the guide, because you are too old. Which is not to say you can't learn magic. Just not there. Well, technically you could come to the guild and say you had some magical skills, and purchase some spells, but that's not what you need."

Vyctanya admitted. "I don't know what I need. What I will need."

Masalinie nodded. "Exactly. You need to understand what you are doing, and you need to understand how to explore on your own. So. In Labor Town there is an Argonian called Only-He-Stands-There who would train you further, because he believes anyone with a need for the art should be taught."

"Would train me _further_?" The phraseology hadn't been lost on Vyctanya.

"Yes." Masalinie admitted. "He's reluctant to do the initial teaching sometimes, but if you show him that you already know at least one small magickal working, he'll take you further, and he really is a good teacher. So, um, you are going to buy your first spells from me. I'll teach you how to cast magic."

Vyctannya felt a shiver work its way down her spine. She wasn't sure if she was excited or nervous or maybe both. "When?"

"Now." Masalinie stood, and wiped off her palms on the sides of her robes.

"But," Vyctannya stood stiffly, looking around. "There's no, um, arcane altar or whatever you call them."

Masalinie looked startled for a moment. Then she smiled, and said. "I keep forgetting you weren't born here."

"I was born and raised in Cheydinhal," Vyctanya said. "The head of the Mages' Guide there was an Altmer named Falcar. Really tall, even when he was sitting if you know what I mean. Kind of a scary sort. Anyway, before we moved here, I used to know a young Nord who was starting his apprenticeship with Falcar, and so I heard little bits about the Guild Hall and how Falcar always insisted on doing things The Right Way."

"Sounds a lot like Ranis," Masalinie said thoughtfully. Then she nodded to herself, stood up and brushed her hands off against her robes again. "Okay. Um. First I'm going to teach you just a little magick. It will let you accelerate your body's ability to heal itself from an injury."

"But the altar?"

Masalinie shook her head. "That's not how we do it here. I'll show you." She stepped close to Vyctannya and held out her hands, left palm facing the ceiling, right palm facing the floor. "Put your hands on mine. It doesn't matter if we lock fingers - it just has to be palm to palm, and the energy will flow in a sort of a circle. It can be kind of hard to feel it at first."

Hesitantly, Vyctannya put her palms to the mage's.

"Now the first thing I'm going to do is cast the spell so you can feel it. You aren't injured, so it's not going to do anything, but the healing energies will be pretty easy for you to feel." After a second, Masalinie added. "You might want to close your eyes."

The mage could feel cold sweat coming off Vyctannya palms, and a slight tremor going through her. "Think of it like listening with your hands." Masalinie made her voice gentle. "I've seen you use a drop spindle. So think of me as making the thread, and you are close enough to touch it. You can feel it going through your fingers; feel all the little fibers coming together to make a good strong thread."

So Vyctanya imagined that, imagined having carded daedra silk and somnalius bolls and then twisting it onto a drop spindle. She could feel the cool smoothness of the silk, the subtle brush of the smnalius fibers. Somehow it was even stronger then when she spun them. She could feel the cord in a circle, around between her hands and Masalinie's, gentle movement.

Then it faded.

She opened her eyes to see Masalinie smiling at her. "You felt it, didn't you?"

"Yes," She said hesitantly. "It wasn't so scary as I imagined." She felt her cheeks go pink. "It was very nice."

"Now listen again, Vyc, because you are going to try it too."

Vyctannya swallowed. "Okay."

By the time Masalinie was done with her, Vyctannya had been able to cast the healing spell, as well as a strange little enchantment that called into being a jagged dagger made of some coppery material that felt more like bone than metal. It didn't stay long, but it felt very comfortable in Vyctannya's hand.

**~~In the Dark~~**

Late that night she sat on her small bed. She stared across the dimly lit room at the other bed where her younger sister Aditte lay sprawled, limbs akimbo and hair tangled across the pillow. She thought about how happy Aditte had been to see her Alodie, her knight in shining armor. Envious tears trickled down Vyctannya's cheeks, and she wiped at her face with the back of her hand.

Dyus had been the only survivor. He was supposed to the hero.

She was supposed to be the maiden. If anyone was going to need saving, it should have been her. And a kiss by her knight was supposed to be all the saving she needed.

She had known exactly who she was, and had known the path her life would take. She hadn't thought of herself as a person who could fight, or ever would. Or do magick. She wasn't supposed to be someone who needed to do any of that.

Cylsandra's sorrowful comments echoed in her memory. _'Cursed with a terrible disease', 'there is no cure'_.

Alodie had been honest; the hope he offered was unrealistic and unlikely, and that was the best case. The only chance. Maybe not even a real one.

Quietly, so as not to wake her sister, she laid back onto the bed. In the morning she would talk to Only-He-Stands-There, and then Tyermaillin, and then she would ask Alodie to take her to Fort Buckmoth, and to Tel Fyr. In the morning.

Early in the morning.

She stared at the ceiling and didn't sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

_Authors note: If you happen to have read Tomb Lord's Apprentice, you may notice that Vyctannya is not the original name of this character. Her original name was just a throwaway grab from the wiki list of Breton names, and I never really cared for it. I find that I can't write a character in any depth without having a name that works for me. Someday maybe I'll go back to that other story and update her name. Or maybe this is actually her middle name._

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**Standard disclaimer: I do not own Morrowind, or any of the other wondrous creations of Bethesda Softworks, however I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks, spells and characters of my own invention. I play with a number of mods, and when something specific appears in my story based on a mod, I will do my best to give the mod author credit.**

**~~The Meeting~~**

Vyctayna sat up in bed, abruptly awake. She was breathing hard, covered with sweat. She rubbed her face, trying to forget the vivid images of Dyus Varrio, twisted, bloated and covered with weeping sores that lingered from her nightmares.

She dressed hurriedly. Alodie Jes, her sister's fiancée, had agreed to take her to Fort Buckmoth to see Dyus. _What was left of Dyus_. No, she wouldn't think that way. There had to be some way to save him. There had to be something she could do. Or something someone could do. Diseases could be cured. There were healers. And magic.

Pulling a cloak on over her clothing, she headed downstairs. She could hear the sounds of her mother at the spinning wheel, and crept as quietly as possible past her. She did not want any sympathy. She wanted to do something.

She paused on the stair outside her mother's clothier shop. Looking to her right, she could see the walk bridges that led to the east side of Balmorra, known as Labor Town. Even this early in the morning, she could make out activity. People grouped around something, cheering. She frowned, trying to work out what was happening. Then came a distant thud. The group dispersed in all directions, leaving behind someone laying on the ground.

Even from this distance, she could see the short length of what had to be a dagger handle protruding from the neck of the fallen mer.

She was two blocks away from the walk bridge across the Oadi river. She could see a pair of city guardes on the bridge; they had been walking toward Labor Town. Their golden-hued armor caught the sunlight. As she watched, they continued pacing the bridge, got to the end nearest Labor Town and turned around again, ignoring the body that was only ten or twenty feet from the far edge of the bridge.

Behind them two slight shapes scurried over to the fallen one, riffling through clothing. They were small enough to be children._ Could they really be children_?

Numbly she took the few steps down to the street level.

Another golden-clad guarde came from the direction of the Temple and crossed right in front of her. He (or she - it was impossible to tell, because the golden suit of armor worn by all the members of the city guarde included a full helmet) paused and turned slightly to look down at Vyctanya. Well, most any Dunmer stood much taller than any given Bosmer, so that didn't really take much effort.

"Outlander." The whisper was a low disapproving hiss. She'd heard it many times before, but this morning for some reason the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Then the guard turned abruptly and headed southwest, toward the Hlaalu compound that was the most imposing building in Balmorra.

She bit her lip. Was that a bad omen?

Then she walked quickly south toward the market square.

It took her about twenty minutes to find Hul, a young Argonian who occasionally would offer her services as a guide to those new to the city. It took another twenty minutes and four septims for Hul to agree to lead Vyctannya to the South Wall Cornerclub where Mesalie had said Only-He-Stands-There could be found.

Hul looked her up and down after accepting the fee. "The questionss you musst ssave for another. Attend Sswiftly to my directionss. Walk as a dunmer among nobless."

With that, Hul led her on a rapidly twisting path through back alleys. Between trying to walk like a Dunmer, which she took to mean with total confidence in the absolute inferiority of everyone else, and trying to keep up with the Argonian, Vyctayna had no time left to get too worried about where they were going.

The South Wall Cornerclub had probably once been a very fine building. The lines of the curved stonework were graceful, and the wind-eaten tapestry that named the place still spoke faintly of the skill that had gone into its creation.

Hul led her into the darkened corridors where only every other sconce was lit with fitfully sparking torches. The sickly scent of alcohol, skooma and vomit made Vyc try not to breathe very deeply. By the first turn in the initially empty corridor, she was lightheaded. She wasn't sure if it was from the scents or from trying not to breathe them.

A small table with a filthy but once fine lamp sat in the corner where the corridor took an abrupt turn to the left. Playing some kind of card game sat two individuals; a Nord woman with her back to the entry way and a kajiit whose eyes were dilated to black in the dim light. The Nord was tall even sitting, and wore nondescript robes bulky enough to cover any sort of armor. The single braid down her back was light brown. The Khajiit was garbed in the pale chitin armor reputed to come from the deep ashlands. Vyctayna didn't know much about weaponry, but she could see small hilts of weapons under armor strapped onto the Khajiit's forearms as well as another larger looking weapon at the warrior's hip.

Neither of the card players offered more than a single glance. The lack of overt aggression should probably have been reassuring, but it just made odd shivers go up and down the Breton's spine.

Hul nodded to the Khajiit. "One greets Sugar-Lips and asks if the learned Argonian might be present?"

The Kajiit looked up from her hand of cards and smiled. Or at least Vyctannya hoped it was a smile. There seemed to be a lot of teeth involved.

"Indeed, he yet remains." The large eyes glanced up and down at Vyc. "So the young clothier seeks lessons of another kind?"

Vyctannya's mouth opened, then closed. How had the Kajiit known who she was? Surely they'd never actually met.

The Argonian nodded briefly and then without looking back, beckoned. "Questions you shall be able to ask, Breton."

Down several flights of stairs, the corridor opened into a smoke-filled room complete with two counters backed with various bottles and supplies. The larger seemed to be occupied mostly by heavyset men nursing large tankards or even larger bottles. The smaller had only one customer, a small ginger striped Khajiit wearing a ragged dress that should really have been retired to rag duty at least a year ago. She was slowly inhaling from something that looked like a teapot but made bubbling sounds as she took puffs from it.

The Khajiit seemed to notice Vyctayna's gaze on her, and looked up with an odd smile. Without ever taking her lips away from the … tube extending from the teapot-thing, the Khajiit murmured softly, "ahhh sweet skooma."

A firm hand at the Breton's elbow brought her attention back to her guide. Hul was frowning at her, "the Bosmer came with a purpose, did sshe not?" Vyc was steered past the bars to a back corner of the large room where under trailing hanging plants, an imposing Argonian waited.

He stood at least seven and a half feet tall. Dual crests flared from the sides of his head, adorned with stylized gold rings clearly made in the shape of coiling serpents. Vyctayna knew the serpent was a sigil used by many of the healing societies. His robes were richly embroidered sedge cotton, which had to have been imported from Cyrodiil.

The younger Argonian gave a small bow of the head. "Questions lead a traveler here to consult with the healer. Her esscort will wait near the sstair for an hour."

Before Vyctannya could object, Hul had darted back toward the entryway. She glanced up at the tall Argonian to see that she was being carefully scrutinized.

Feeling heat rise in her cheeks, she said. "My name is Vyctannya Hastien. Um, Masalinie Merian said I might be able to learn some things from you."

The Argonian raised an eye-ridge in a gesture of surprise. "The humble people of labor town on occassion sseek learning of difficult kindss, thiss iss true. You are not from labor town. You have not the humble needs of the poor folk here."

The young Breton bit her lip. "I have to help … my fiancée. Mesaline said that you might be able to guide me in the ways of exploring what kind of healing magics would be needed."

"Your fiancée." The Argonian murmured.

She flushed, thinking that he didn't believe her. "Yes," she said firmly, "they tell me that he's ill and there's no cure, but there's magic, it has to be able to save him." Seeing no reaction, she started worrying that he was going to send her away without knowing the whole story. "Alodie told me that Raesa, that's his commander at Fort Buckmoth, she said it wasn't respectful to let him die like that. But they can't just kill him. Someone has to do something, but there isn't anyone, but Mesaline said that-" Too late, she recalled her promise not to tell anyone, and stopped abruptly.

After a moment she said, "Um, I have learned a little bit of magic, but I don't know enough, and Mesaline says that I need to learn how to figure out what I need."

The Argonian said carefully. "There are thosse sskilled in healing at the Fort, are there not? Even the fell blight that followss the winds from the ashlands may be relived with the proper blessingss."

Vyctayna bit her lip and then said quietly. "Alodie says there is no cure for corprus."

The Argonian closed his eyes for a long moment. "Thiss one is ssaddened to hear of your losss."

"Please," she put her hand out, meaning to rest it on the healer's arm, but thought the better of it. "Please, Dyus isn't dead. He's not lost, not yet, not unless I give up. Alodie said he escorted a dunmer from Vivec to Tel Fyr. He said she had the marks of corprus, but no more. She was well, and she was clever. He said that wasn't supposed to be possible but it happened."

"And Alodie iss one who hass studied corpruss?"

Vyc flushed again. "No, not exactly. Alodie Jes, he's a legionnaire just like Dyus was. Like Dyus is. They were both stationed at Fort Buckmoth. They were friends."

She stared up at the unreadable expression of the argonian. "Please," she said finally. "Maybe it's not possible." Her throat closed for a moment and her vision swam with tears. "But I have to try."

The Argonian held up a single taloned finger. "One quesstion, young Breton, only one quesstion would I assk." He paused. Then without judgment, without accusation, simply and carefully he gently spoke a single world.

"Why?"

It took three tries for Vyctayna to speak past the lump in her throat.

"If it was me." She blinked back her tears. "If it was me, he wouldn't give up either."


	3. Chapter 3

_Authors note: Hist and Moonsugar are culture-specific entheogens – a word which means a chemical or substance which, when properly used within its proper cultural context, can induce a connection with the divine. Real-world equivalents would be Tobacco for the Lakota and Amanita for Siberian shamans. Err…it's slightly possible that I did an essay on this subject for my world religions class in college. Anyway. On to the story._

* * *

**Standard disclaimer: I do not own Morrowind, or any of the other wondrous creations of Bethesda Softworks, however I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks, spells and characters of my own invention. I play with a number of mods, and when something specific appears in my story based on a mod, I will do my best to give the mod author credit.**

~**~Asking a Favor~~**

The silvery-scaled Argonian gazed sympathetically down at Vyctayna but said nothing, as the worried looking Breton swallowed her immanent tears. She was clutching her hands together so tightly that he knuckles were white with the strain. When she was able to meet his gaze again, he said gently. "This one sees the depths of your regard for your mate."

_Mate?_ "But we haven't actually been married yet," She began.

He reached out and gently took her hands in his. "Your hearts touch. Thiss is not ssomething that can be denied." He tilted his head and examined her closely. "I do not know if it iss posssible to reach one lost to the corpruss, but thiss one can help you sseek the blessings of the Mother, if you are brave enough to face what musst be done."

Vyctania was both grateful for and terrified by the sympathy. The way he spoke reminded her of people's well wishes to relatives of someone near death. Or who had already all but passed away. "What do you mean? Who is the Mother?"

"The Mother of Magic, the Mother of uss all." He patted her hand. "Come, hatchling, we will ssee if she will hear your plea."

He looked to the bar where Hul, the young Argonian who had escorted her to this smoky place, was waiting.

The youngster bounded out of the seat, leaving a mug of ale untouched. "Thiss one listenss."

Only-He-Stands-There said. "Please seek out the Singer of Tales at the Eight Plates and the Maker of Maps and ask them to join me in introducing a seeker to our Mother. We will convene at the place of listening shortly."

For a long moment, Hul stood as if frozen, jaw slightly parted. Vyctayna had the sense that the young Argonian was very surprised at this. It sounded like something very serious, or important, or both. Well, of course it was important if it would help her save Dyus.

After a moment, the older Argonian asked the Breton, "Would you accept the support of this young one in your calling?"

Vyctayna couldn't read much Argonian body language, but something about the way Hul looked desperately appealing; the "Please, please, please" of the youngster who does not want to be left out. Probably an eager adolescent looked similar in any culture. And Only-He-Stands-There had said 'support'; if it could help, then who was she to say no?

"Um, certainly." She said.

Only-He-Stands-There offered her his arm, and they slowly walked up the stairs and out of the smoke and skooma scented basement of the South Wall Cornerclub. He was so much taller than Vyctayna she felt like a child being escorted by a parent. It didn't feel uncomfortable though; she felt safe and protected. Hul trailed behind them.

In the opening corridor, the blond haired Nord, and the pale armored Khajiit that Hul had called Sugar Lips were still continuing their card game. To Vyctannya, the pile of septims in the center of the table looked unchanged.

The Khajiit's eyes widened briefly and she nodded to the tall Argonian healer. Then she glanced at the Breton again, as if re-evaluating something. Vyctannya got the impression that she'd managed to go up a notch in Sugar Lips' estimation. That probably meant that Only-He-Stands-There was very high ranking indeed.

As soon as they were outside, Hul darted off.

Only-He-Stands-There kept slowly walking, his arm protectively on hers. Unsure of what to say, and thinking anxious thoughts about Dyus, it took Vyctannya until they were crossing the walkbridge back to Balmorra proper to realize that he was escorting her back home.

"But I thought-" She began.

He patted her hand again. "The clothier Hastien will ssurely have garments for your journey. Regardlesss of your meeting with the Mother, you will be leaving Balmorra ssoon. You will prepare, and I will bring you to the place of our quesstionss, yess?"

"Yes." Her reply was hesitant.

The door to the shop opened, and Alodie stepped out, resplendent in his legion finery. "Where have you been? Your mother and Aditte have been worried." After the first rush of questions was out of his mouth, he finally registered the Argonian standing next to her. "Excuse me, I am Alodie Jes, Vyctayna's brother-in-law to be." He clearly intended to say more, but then hesitated, looking at her face.

"I told him about what happened to Dyus." She said softly.

"A journey will commence," the Argonian spoke gravely, "thiss one will prepare her, such ass that can be done. She will return to thiss place tonight, and you will guide her further."

Alodie blinked, but then nodded. "Um … thank you." He looked back to her. "I'll be here. We'll leave as soon as you get back."

**~~Meeting the Mother~~**

Much to Vyctannya's surprise, her mother greeted her not only with a kiss to each cheek, but with a carefully packed satchel and a brand-new well fitted outfit of netch leather garments treated to withstand any inclement weather. "I know you will be going to see him," Millie told her affectionately, "and you will be well-dressed as well as well-protected." Here she glanced significantly at Alodie.

He nodded formally. "Yes, ma'am. I will keep her safe," He added, "I have no desire to get on the wrong side of the Hastien women."

"Very wise." Millie was entirely serious as she nodded to him.

Knowing that Only-He-Stands-There was waiting, Vyctania dressed as quickly as she could. When she came down the stairs, satchel over her shoulder, she saw that Alodie was waiting near the door. He pulled her aside. "I know you don't have a lot of experience with weapons." He began.

"Weapons?" Vyctanya's voice came out as a high-pitched squeak. Belatedly she registered his implacable expression.

"Weapons." Alodie spoke calmly. "I'll find something for you. It will be all right. Don't worry about it so much."

He opened the door, and Vyctanya could see the midnight blue robes of Only-He-Stands-There, who was leaning against the building calmly gazing upward at the clouds overhead. She hadn't been aware of making much noise, but he turned to face her.

They walked past the temple and out the southern gate. Vyctannya didn't have much experience in the wilderness, other than travel by Silt Strider or twice by Guar caravan. She was uncomfortably aware that it was just the two of them. There could be wild animals. There could be anything.

Perhaps it was just luck, but they encountered no animals other than a pale scrib that was barely as tall as the Breton's knees. It meandered up to them, sniffing and lightly brushing it's antennae along Vyctanya's new leather leggings.

Only-He-Stands-There held his hand over the creature for a brief moment. "May the Mother guide you safely." He said softly.

Who was the Mother?

The walk south ended at a wooden door in the side of a hill.

"Vassir-Didanat," remarked the Argonian, "years ago this was a rich ebony mine, but the Mother has turned the eyess of greed away for now."

He led Vyctannya inside, summoning forth a sparkling ball of light that hovered just above his head and gave illumination to the caverns.

As they followed the curving tunnel, the Breton became aware of the crackling sounds of flames. The leather she wore protected her from the chill air, but she could see that a fire might be welcome. She asked, "Is there someone here who has started a fire for us?"

Only-He-Stands-There looked startled for a moment. "A fire?" He asked, and then seemed to think of something. "The hatchling will ssoon find answerss." He said.

Around a final bend, and the tunnel opened up into a large room that still held a number of pickaxes and tools that spoke of mining. Walking among the abandoned supplies was a graceful being whose skin was all the blazing colors of sunset. She wore a few metal garments, and had a sort of mask, but looking at the way her 'hair' danced and flickered, it was clear that she was a being made of flame.

Vyctanya stopped dead for a moment. She'd heard tales of such creatures. Their embrace was fatal, and they could move far faster than any mortal.

She felt a brief touch on her shoulder, and glancing to her right, saw that the Argonian was bowing to the creature. Hastily she curtsied, making it as low and careful as she could.

Only-He-Stands-There said. "A humble follower of the Mother of the Moon greetss you."

"Fervor watches for you," The fire-woman's voice was a gentle hissing, as of coals falling in a brazier. "You shall be safe."

Accepting this assurance, Only-He-Stands-There led the nervous Breton past the creature of flame to a place where a circle had been etched into the stone floor of the caverns. It was large enough to hold five or six people, and she noted that it had been filled in with some dark substance that gleamed in the flickering light of the creature of flame and the sparkling spell of the Argonian.

He sat, and gestured for her to do the same.

"Are you an adherent of the worldss of Sspirit?"

"Am I ..." Vyctannya's voice trailed off. Like most Bretons born in the Empire she had received a nominal education in the ways of the nine, but other than the obligatory annual rituals, she hadn't really given it a great deal of thought. She realized that since coming to Morrowind as a child, her families attendance at any temple services had all but disappeared. Which made sense, given that most of the temples here were aligned to the tribunal, and non-Dunmer were not especially welcome. To put it mildly. Any interest she might have had was pretty much quashed by the unending litany of "scum" and "outlander" from the temple guards.

She realized that Only-He-Stands-There was watching her with gentle eyes, waiting for some kind of answer.

"I don't really know much about any spirit worlds, or spirits. When I was little, back in Cheydinhal we did go to the temple of the nine." That seemed like so long ago. Anther lifetime. "I don't really remember all that much about it." She admitted.

"Do you know of the Hisst?"

She had heard the word ... and it did have something to do with spirits, and the beginning of Nirn. She tried to explain that, but she mostly felt foolish and all too aware of her ignorance.

The Argonian reached upward and made a closing gesture with his right hand. The sparkling light went out, leaving only long dark shadows cast by the shifting fires of the fire-woman. In the darkness, occasional glints were visible in the walls, and from the dark circle that surrounded them. Vyctannya found herself thinking of stars in lonely darkness.

Shadows moved; it seemed that others were coming to sit in the circle with Hul and herself. She couldn't tell who they were. Beside her, the young Argonian nodded as the newcomers arrived.

"There was darkness," Only-He-Stands-There spoke in a low rumble that seemed to come out of the shadows that shrouded the cavern. "And there was curioussity. The darkness lay fallow, and the impulsse to look was born within it like the smallest of sseedss."

"Silence begetss the waiting ... and into the ssilence came a sound. Into the darkness came the smallest of ssparks. Into the patience ... came hunger. Out of these two then, came others. And the ssilence sought to pull them back, and the hunger ssought to conssume them. So these otherss fought to remain, and thuss were the firsst worldss born out of the primordial two."

Vaguely Vyctanya noted a sweetish fragrance that seemed somehow familiar, but most of her attention was taken up by the sound of the Argonian's voice. He seemed to make the shadows come alive, as if someone, or more than one someone was cautiously watching her.

"Ssome fell, but the sstrongest of them remained, like crysstal within a dark sea. Akotossh, Arkay and Magnuss. Men and Mer ssometimess know them by other namess; time and magika, the circle that life followss. Otherss are born, and thesse are called the first sspiritss - the et'Adanss - and they in turn give birth, sharing their essence and the firsst worldss are created.

"But these worldss are new, barely formed and without sstrength, and they begin to fall, ssome of the hungry ones sseek to conssume them. Sso there is no ssafe place for life ... not yet."

"Sseeing a need, one of the creatorss realizess that no ssingle sspirit, even one of the most powerful, can ssusstain a world that will be a proper home for life. Some call this spirit Sshor, or Ssep. Mosst of the mer will know him as Lorkhan. He iss ssmall at firsst, an urge to protect and an idea to grow. He enterss all the worlds by different sseemingss, with a whissper that sayss 'add your grace, and the wheel shall have a hub, a heart, a center for all the universse to dance in array around about'. Many hear hiss wordss and grant giftss, ssubtle energiess, ideass and impulsess. This is the birth of Nirn."

The Breton seemed to hear other voices in the cavern, echoing affirmation and support as if she was hearing the sounds of those long distance powers, agreeing to let this world be born.

"Few are the et'Adans that realize that their creation now has a life of it'ss own - and the giftss they gave cannot be taken back. The Hisst are among the few that waited, sharing only the river of time as it flows in a ssingle direction ass Akatosh unfolds himsself through this new idea. The rootss of the Hist dance with Nirn, sharing dreams across the placess where we sstill all touch the night together. When it became time for livess to arisse on this new world, Nirn at the center of Munduss, the Hisst gave of their future, and we are all their children.

"Many of the et'Adanss were angered by their loss; and those that had not given to the creation mocked them. Thuss did the wrath of the giverss, and the mockery of the watcherss fall upon Lorkhan or Shezzar and he was rent assunder."

The darkness was playing tricks with Vyctanya's eyes, she seemed to see a figure of light that scattered into many pieces; one large red jewel landed in the ground and glowed with an irregular pulsing rhythm.

"But the tenacity of life and the ssincerity of giving has power, and the boness of the giverss are woven into Nirn and flow as Akotossh flows. The heart of Shezzar is fallen at the center of Nirn. All of Nirn flows as Akotossh flows.

"Nirn, then, iss the child of the ssacrifice of Shezzar."

Vyctanya asked. "Then who is the mother?" And then realizing she had interrupted the tale, she clapped both hands over her mouth.

Warm laughter as sensual and comforting as if a gentle arm was wrapped around her was the first answer the young Breton received.

"I am the Mother, child of Cheydinhal. I birth the changes of need; I am midwife of the great changes, of the new paths, of the flows of power that shape to need, of the paths that move between."

It was the voice of Only-He-Stands-There, but yet it was not; almost as if two speakers words were so overlapped as to sound as one. The second voice, the new voice was feminine and soft, stern and confident, affectionate but formally accented.

And despite the fact that the double voice was clear as a bell, Vyctannya's ears were ringing, as if there were also other voices, musical chimes, urging and suggesting, eager to … something.

"Listen well," The dual voice said. "You come to me asking a favor, and you shall offer me what I require in return."

"Dyus." Began Vyctanya.

"Dyus." Echoed the dual voice, "marks the beginning of your path."

Cold fear clutched at the Breton's heart.

The voice softened, coaxed. "If you choose to walk it."

Vyctannya opened her mouth, and then closed it. What other choice was there? If there was any chance, this was it.

Finally she said softly. "I choose."

"Henceforth then, Child of Cheydinhal, you are one of mine."

The gentle caress of that voice made her feel absolutely welcome. The obligation implicit in the tone made her shiver with fear.


End file.
